


Service with a Smile

by gallifreyslostson



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-01
Updated: 2016-05-01
Packaged: 2018-06-05 14:20:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,688
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6708082
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gallifreyslostson/pseuds/gallifreyslostson
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Peggy finds herself working as a waitress to make ends meet, but it’s not all bad.  She has one regular in particular that makes the job more fun…until he shows up with his girlfriend.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Service with a Smile

“Two dollar tip on a sixty-five dollar check, how’s that for gratitude?” Angie complained, pulling a new order off her pad viciously.  “I swear, some days, it’s just not worth it to tie on the apron.”

“Only some?” Peggy asked, picking up her own pad and slipping it into her pocket.  “I thought we’d come to the conclusion that people are awful on any day that ends in ‘y’.”

“True,” Angie said.  “One day, Peg, you and me, we’re going to be bigger than all this.  I’ll make it big on Broadway and you’ll be a private investigator that makes crooked politicians shake in their boots, you watch.  Then this’ll just be a bad memory.”

“Suppose,” Peggy sighed, thinking longingly of the nice apartment she’d had—with it’s amazing bathtub—before the insurance company had laid her off and ruined everything.  No one ever really considered the life of a claims investigator as a glamorous one, but she’d been happy with it.  “I’d prefer it not have been a memory at all.”

“Yeah, can’t blame you for that.  Still, it’s not all bad.  Your regular just showed up.”

Peggy stiffened, and inexplicable warmth coming to her face, and Angie tapped her on the arm with her order pad as she passed.  Peggy glanced into the tiny mirror on the wall and smoothed down her hair, then took a deep breath and left the server’s station.  She paused when she caught sight of his profile, looking at the menu like he was going to be ordering anything other than a burger with the works, extra fries, and apple pie for dessert.

For nearly two months now, Steve had been coming to the diner for dinner every Tuesday around six, and Peggy didn’t want to admit how much she’d started watching the clock for that bright spot in her shift.  He was...well, very attractive, for one, with his broad shoulders and bright blue eyes, but there was more than that, almost immediately.  Something in his easy smile and hesitant jokes, the way he always asked how her day was going and actually seemed to care about her answer, the fact that he could _always_ tell when she was lying about it being fine.

The fact that he never failed to sit in her section.  They’d been bizarrely busy during his third visit, and her section had been full...so he’d waited, pulling out a sketchbook and doodling for nearly half an hour until a table opened up.  He’d left a folded piece of paper with his more than usually generous tip, a sketch of a flower, with a note wishing her a nice night.

But he still wouldn’t ask her out.  And Peggy had no illusions about gender roles in that sort of thing, she knew very well that she could do it, but...there was something slightly...unsettling about asking out a man she was waiting on at work.  It was one thing to meet at a cocktail party in Manhattan, but another to ask a man to dinner while she was handing him his check and picking up tips.

All that said, she hadn’t realized exactly _how much_ she’d looked forward to his visits until tonight, when six o’clock came and went without seeing his tall frame come through the door.  She’d told herself she was being ridiculous, that Steve certainly had a life outside her diner and their Tuesday nights, but it hadn’t actually helped her glance at the clock more than usual for the past two hours.  Now, she silently told the butterflies jumping in her stomach to calm the hell down as she approached the table.

“Hello, Steve,” she said, and he looked up and smiled at her.  “You’re late.”

“Yeah, I...got caught up with something,” he said, scratching at his eyebrow with his thumb.  “Still, couldn’t miss a chance to see my best girl, could I?  You’re still on for a little while, right?”

“Another hour,” she said, fighting a smile at his words as she lifted her order pad.  “That sort of flattery won’t actually get your burger to you any quicker.”

“If I cared about the burger, I’d be flirting with the cook,” he replied, and her pen paused.

“I doubt you’re his type,” she managed after a moment, gratified to see his cheeks colored and his eyes glued to the menu sitting on the table when she looked up.  “Burger with the works.”

“Yep,” he answered quickly, holding up his menu for her to take.

She was about to turn away, then paused.  She knew his favorite color was blue, that he loved old cars from the forties and everything ever created by Disney, and that he was far more talented at drawing than his casual hobby explanation lined up with, but she had no idea what he actually did for a living.  She swiveled back to him, eyeing him curiously.  “You know, I never asked.  What is it you do?”

“Detective,” he told her, looking up again.  “NYPD.”

“Is that what kept you tonight?  Catching bad guys?”

“I wish,” he said, eyebrow arching as he reached for his water.  “Paperwork.  My partner had a date.  But given the amount of nights I’ve ducked out early to come here, I figured it was probably my turn.”

“Very gracious of you,” she said.  “I’ll just...go get this order in for you.”

She had another party come in after that, and didn’t get to talk to him much beyond the usual checks that everything was satisfactory.  It wasn’t until she brought him the check receipt that she had any more time for conversation.

“I’ve always liked investigative work,” she told him, watching him pull out his wallet and put his credit card away.

“Yeah?  You should join the force, we can always use more help from people who want to investigate more than the bottom of a box of donuts.”

“Mmm, no thanks,” she said, making a face.  “Too political.”

“I wish I could tell you you were wrong about that,” he said, shaking his head.  “So tell me, Peggy, what is it you want to do?  Something tells me waitressing isn’t your dream job.”

“Very astute, detective,” she said, smirking, and he grinned, snapping off a lazy salute.  “I’ve been considering the benefits of...private investigation.”

“PI, huh?  You know those guys are a pain in my ass, right?”

Peggy tilted her head thoughtfully.  “Are they?  Suddenly the job seems even more enticing.”

“Okay,” Steve said, fighting a smile as he stood up.  “Alright.  Have your laughs.  But you should do it.”

“I’m sorry?” Peggy asked, smile falling from her face in her surprise.

“Do it,” he repeated.  “Get your license, get an office, open up shop.  If that’s what makes you happy, go for it.”

“Even if it means being a pain in your arse?” she asked, arching an eyebrow.

“Sure,” he said, shoving his hands in the pockets of his jacket and walking backwards toward the door.  “And hey, then maybe we can cross paths in ways I don’t have to tip you for.  Have a good night, Peg.  See you next week.”

Peggy watched him turn and push the door open, the bell above it jangling.  Between his bizarre form of encouragement and various scenarios in which they could see each other without him having to tip her running through her mind, she was more than happy to see the end of her shift and put her confusing regular out of her mind completely.

***

“So you gonna tell him?” Angie asked her the following week as six o’clock neared.  “Detective Hotty?”

“Tell him what?” she asked, running a credit card through the register.

“Oh come on, Peg,” Angie said, rolling her eyes.  “You sleep in my living room.  I know you were looking up stuff on becoming a PI.”

“That was just...hypothetical,” she said, shrugging as she ripped a receipt out of the register.  “It’s nothing I’m actually thinking about seriously.”

“That expensive, huh?” Angie asked shrewdly, and Peggy narrowed her eyes.

“Perhaps you should be the investigator,” she said, turning away.

“Nah, I’m just nosy,” Angie said following her.  “That’s different.  But really, Peg, if we pool our money--”

“Absolutely not,” she said, holding up a hand.  “You’ve done far too much for me as it is, I will not let you help me pay for that.”

“So we could say it’s a loan--”

“No, Angie.”

Angie let out a breath in a huff, eyeing her as she crossed her arms, then looked past her toward the door as the bell signaled a new guest.  “This isn’t over, English.  But you better clear that table quick.”

“What, why--”

She turned, then paused at the sight of Steve, looking uncomfortable as he glanced around the diner.  He brightened marginally when he caught sight of her, offering a small smile that...did things to her.

Oh, for heaven’s sake.

She looked away, hurrying over to the table waiting for their receipt.  She chanced a look up at the door again as she picked up the tip, then froze when Steve turned toward the petite redhead walking in, leaning down so they could exchange cheek kisses as his hand settled at her waist.

Peggy looked away quickly, feeling heat rise her face before she hurried back to the server’s station for a few slow breaths.  It was ridiculous, the shock and hurt she felt, she was just his waitress, why shouldn’t he have a date, or even a steady girlfriend.  It was perfectly reasonable for a man his age and his really rather unfair amount of physical appeal to be unavailable.

“Peggy?”  Angie frowned when she saw Peggy’s face, stepping closer.  “Hey, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” she said quickly, attempting to school her expression as she turned--just as Steve was leading his date to a table in her section.

“Aw, Peg, I’m sorry,” Angie murmured, touching her arm.

“It’s fine,” she said quickly, smoothing her hand down her uniform.  “It’s not as if we’re involved.  I’m just his waitress.”

***

“So which one is she?” Natasha asked, sipping at her water.

Steve glanced around, then caught sight of Peggy and another waitress standing at the server’s station.  Both turned away quickly when he caught her eye, but he nodded in their direction.

“On the left,” he said, then shook his head.  “Remind me why this was necessary?”

“Come on, Rogers,” she said.  “What kind of partner would I be if I didn’t check out your potential girlfriend?”

“She’s not--it’s not--that’s not how it is,” Steve said, shifting uncomfortably.

“Right,” she said, arching an eyebrow.  “It’s just the burgers that keep you coming here every week.  And the burgers that you talk about all the time, and doodle in that little book of yours, and--”

“Cool it, Romanoff,” he said quickly, glancing up to see Peggy approaching.

“Evening,” Peggy said, her smile a little stiff.  “Can I start you off with some drinks?”

“Uh, yeah, I’ll take a diet coke, no ice,” Nat told her, but Steve only frowned.

“Everything alright, Peggy?” he asked.

“Perfectly fine,” she said, her expression still rigid and closed off.  “Drink?”

He hadn’t actually had to give her an order in weeks, from beverage to dessert.  Now she was looking at him like it was the first time he’d ever entered the diner.

“Sir?”

“Uh...root beer,” he managed, looking down at the menu to hide his confusion.  “Please.”

“Coke and a root beer,” she repeated, scribbling on her pad.

“Um, diet,” Nat said, leaning in to catch her eye, and Peggy looked up.  “No ice.”

“Of course, ma’am,” she said, a Steve glanced at her to see her usually pretty--and always distracting--lips twist into a smirk.  “Diet coke.  I’ll be right back.”

“Well, I can’t say much for her personality,” Natasha said as Steve frowned again, watching her walk away.  “But the curves are just your type.”

“She must be having a bad day,” he said, turning back to his partner.  “She’s not usually like that.”

“You sure you haven’t just been blinded by the nice ass, Rogers?” she asked.

“No!  I mean, not that she doesn’t have a--that’s not what it is,” he snapped.

Her mood hadn’t improved when she returned with their drinks--his root beer, and Nat’s definitely not diet, and more ice than soda.  Steve opened his mouth to say something, but Nat gave a nearly imperceptible shake of her head before giving Peggy her order for a patty melt.  Peggy gave him the same politely blank expression until he remembered to order his burger.

When she left again, Nat lifted up her glass, tilting her head as she eyed it.  “Well that’s certainly one way to send a message.”

“What do you mean?” Steve asked.

Nat looked past the glass at him, then let out a small chuckle.  “You really don’t know, do you?  You know, Rogers, for such a good detective, you can be _really_ thick.”

“Was there a point you were getting to?” he asked with an impatient tone.

“She _likes_ you, Steve,” Nat said, setting down her glass and pushing it aside.  “A lot, I’d guess, from how much she clearly isn’t happy about you coming here with another girl.”

“I’m not coming here with another girl,” he snorted.  “I’m coming here with you.”

“It may have escaped your attention, but I am actually of the female persuasion,” she told him, and he rolled his eyes.

“I know _that_ ,” he said.  “But it’s not like you’re a... _girl_ -girl.  You’re my partner.  It’s not a _date_.”

“Does _she_ know that?” Nat asked, and his mouth moved soundlessly.

“I mean, even if it was, it’s not like we have--she’s just--”

“You know, it might help if you could actually talk in completely sentences around her,” she observed, and Steve ran a hand through his hair irritably.

He could speak in complete sentences to Peggy.  They’d shared _lots_ of sentences over the last few weeks, most of them complete, several of them flirty, even.  He knew her favorite flower was the iris, funeral context notwithstanding, and that she’d lived and worked in Manhattan before she’d been laid off and relocated, and that her parents and brother had asked her five times to go home to England, but she loved New York, broke or not.

It was just the...feelings thing, the important sentences, sentences like “will you have dinner with me?” that he found...elusive.  Mostly because he was pretty sure that someone that gorgeous and bright, someone who so clearly had more going for her than this job, probably still had people from her old life banging down her door, and wouldn’t really want to date an underpaid New York detective with no regular hours and less self-preservation than he probably should have.  Especially one who had thought about her...way more than was probably healthy for anyone.

She deserved the world, and he had a studio apartment in Brooklyn.  It wasn’t hard to do the math.

“Can we just drop it, Romanoff?” he asked finally.

“Fine.” she said with a shrug.  “I’m just saying, I know what jealousy looks like, whether you think it’s like that or not.”

When Peggy brought their food--after a surprisingly long wait for the unusually slow night--her usual poise seemed to fall apart in the form of spilling Nat’s plate all over her.  It could have been worse--a burger and fries wasn’t exactly spaghetti and meatballs--but it was still completely out of character.  She did apologize profusely, and hurried off to get Natasha another plate.

“Well, it’s definitely not her skill as a waitress that keeps you coming back,” Natasha said as she sat back down, bypassing her coke in favor of her water.  “I’m going to smell like fried onions all night.  Although that might excite Clint, actually.”

“She’s not usually like that,” he said, shaking his head.  “I saw her trip and nearly take a header a couple of weeks ago before she recovered, and never spilled a drop.”

“You don’t say,” Natasha said, looking completely unsurprised.

Steve offered up his fries to Nat while they waited, and eventually Peggy did return with Nat’s order, keeping it on the table this time.  She still looked a little...flustered, although she did manage to pull herself together enough to give them a polite smile.

“Peggy, are you sure you’re alright?” he asked, looking at her in concern and reaching for her wrist.  She avoided his touch, though, clasping her hands in front of her.

“Absolutely,” she said.  “Just clumsy.  Of course you won’t be charged for your dinner.  Is there anything else I can get you and your girlfriend?”

Steve blinked, his mouth opening in surprise, as Nat cut in.

“No, I think we’ve got everything we need now, thank you,” she said, and Peggy nodded, moving away again.  Natasha looked back at Steve, arching an eyebrow as she picked up her burger.  “Still think it’s not like that, Rogers?”

Steve stared at her a second, then lifted his napkin off his lap and dropped it on the table.  “I’ll be right back.”

“Go get her, Tiger,” Nat said, then bit into her burger.

He had no idea what he was going to say, or what he wanted to accomplish, but the idea that she was acting like that because she was in any way...hurt, because of _him_...was just not acceptable.  He found her in a hallway in the back, near the kitchen, taking deep breaths, although she stiffened when she saw him.

“Something I can do for you?” she asked.

“She’s not my girlfriend,” he said.

“Sorry, date,” she corrected, moving past him.

“No, Peggy, it’s not what you think,” he said, circling her wrist with his hand to keep her from walking away.

“I don’t think anything,” she said.  “What you do with your time is none of my business, even if it is in my diner.  I’m just a waitress.”

“No, you’re not,” he said, and she arched an eyebrow at him.  Ah, hell.  “You’re...you’re Peggy.  And you’re smart, and beautiful, and strong, and hardworking, and funny, and the only reason I come here every week is to talk to you because I’m an idiot and can’t just ask you to have dinner with me so I have dinner here...with you.  Natasha is my partner, Peggy, the one who had a date last week, with her boyfriend who is definitely not me, and wanted to come here and meet you after I got bummed about having to stay and do paperwork instead of coming here.  Because I like you and talk about you more than I should and she thinks it’s her job to be my overprotective big sister or something and maybe she’s right because I’m pretty positive I’m awful at this.”

 _There ya go, Nat_ , he thought ruefully, letting go of Peggy’s wrist and swallowing hard as she stared at him with wide eyes.  _Complete sentences.  Lots of ‘em._

“You want to have dinner with me?” she asked.

“More than anything,” he admitted.

“I get off at nine,” she said, and he blinked, trying to catch up.

“Wait, what--”

He was cut off when she suddenly grabbed his jacket and pulled him down to kiss him.  He froze for a second, then lifted one hand to cup the back of her head as his other arm slid around her waist, pulling her closer.

When she finally pulled away after a long moment, he watched her lick her lips before opening her eyes, a flush coming to her cheeks.

“I get off at nine,” she repeated, sounding a little breathless.  “I know you’re having dinner now, but...maybe I could have dinner later...with you?”

“I’ll be here,” he promised, glancing around over her head for a second before dipping his head for another quick kiss before returning to the table, still feeling a little lightheaded.

“Well that must have gone well,” Natasha said, smiling as she took a bite of french fry while he slid into his seat.

“What makes you say that?” he asked, laying his napkin in his lap again and reaching for his root beer.

“Well, apart from the shit-eating grin and the way you sound like you just ran a few laps on the track,” she said, tilting her head.  “Your lipstick’s a little smudged.”

“My--damn,” he said, lifting his napkin to wipe his mouth.  “Better?”

“Not really, there never was any,” she said, looking back down at her plate.  “Girl must have some good stuff.  But it’s pretty obvious what you were doing, big boy.  So, does that mean you’re finally gonna take her out?”

“Yeah,” he said.  “Speaking of which, we’re gonna have to reschedule that movie.”

“I already texted Clint to meet me at the theater,” she said, grinning again.

“Sneaky,” he said.

“Just a good partner, having your back,” she said.

“Thanks, Romanoff.”

“Sure.  Just don’t mess this up.  Something tells me she is not someone you want on your bad side.”

“I’m pretty sure you’re right,” he said, then glanced up as Peggy came by and dropped off another soda--diet coke, no ice.  Steve grinned, looking up at her.

“I believe I may have mixed up your order earlier,” she told Natasha.

“No worries,” Nat said, taking a sip.  “We’ve all been there.”

“I appreciate that,” she said, then turned to Steve.  “Nine o’clock.  Don’t you dare be late.”

***

He wasn’t late, at least not that time.  Or the time he took her out to celebrate her new PI license.  He _was_ late the time he was supposed to cook her dinner, but so was she, and she’d helped with the arrest that had held him up.  But she didn’t seem to mind the studio apartment in Brooklyn after all.

And the next time a waitress assumed he was dining with his girlfriend, he didn’t deny it, just squeezed Peggy’s hand as he brushed his lips over her knuckles.


End file.
